In The Final Hour (Adam/Frank) - Part 2

Jensen was woken by the sound of his communication link kicking back in now that they were far enough away from Panchaea's interference for the technology to work. "Where am I dropping you guys off?" Malik asked, jolting Jensen out of sleep with a grunt.

Disoriented, Jensen couldn't think of an answer before Pritchard spoke up. "Drop us at my apartment. After this we'll all want to stay low for a while, and I can help Jensen with his wounds."

"What about my apartment?" Jensen asked groggily, realizing slowly that he must have slept for the whole flight.

Pritchard looked over at him. "Do you have anything that needs to be secured in your apartment? I've already wiped all records and logs showing you were at Darrow's facility and in contact with them all leading up to this so ideally no one will ask too many questions," Pritchard explained, much to Jensen's surprise when he learned that Pritchard had altered all the records to protect him. "But you're chief of security so I'm sure they'll still want to talk to you. Anything we should pick up?"

Surprisingly, Jensen did not feel the need to insist that he return to his own apartment. It had always been his safe haven but now he remembered his shattered mirror and the six months he had spent alone, hating his own body in that apartment. It would be nice to rest elsewhere tonight. And he also wanted to ask Pritchard more detailed questions about the head of cyber security forging records to protect him, but he was still too drowsy to focus on a long conversation. "My computer."

"I've already made a full backup copy and wiped it," Pritchard informed him. An average person would have sounded nervous saying that, but Pritchard's voice was steady and sure in his own work mindset. Pritchard knew computers and his work so well, and knew Jensen was aware of this as well. A part of Jensen did still feel indignant about the whole thing but he was also relieved to know that his computer was secure and no one could access his information. "I didn't look at any of the files," Pritchard clarified, this time sounding a bit unsure.  

Jensen waved his concern away, realizing by now that he had to trust someone in this world. "I can't think of anything else that needs to be immediately secured," he said, looking out the window as the city of Detroit approached on the horizon. Jensen turned his communication link back on. "Pritchard's apartment, Malik."

"You got it," she answered and then altered her course. Jensen was equally relieved and grateful that she didn't ask any questions, because Jensen was too confused and tired to voice any of his answers.

Although he had felt in relatively good condition at the facility, when Jensen finally forced himself to step off the helicopter and follow Pritchard into the roof door of the building he found that he could barely hold his own weight. His adrenaline had faded, the weight of what he had just done still on his shoulders and wearing him down as much as his injuries and blood loss made his limbs drag. It took all of his strength to get to Pritchard's apartment so he didn't bother arguing when he was motioned towards an armchair in the living room.

Jensen sunk down into the cushions with a pleased groan, finally allowing his body to fully relax. For a few minutes Jensen let his eyes remain closed, tracking Pritchard's movements around the apartment by the sound of his muffled footsteps on the carpeting and hardwood floors. Then he forced his eyes open, taking the opportunity to study Pritchard and his apartment. He wondered how many people had been trusted to be invited here, knowing Pritchard was about as private and antisocial as Jensen himself.

The apartment was relatively sparse and utilitarian. It suddenly made Jensen wonder if Pritchard had slept in his office as often as Jensen had, both of them asleep across the floor from each other in the building alone without even realizing it. The only part of the apartment that actually looked personalized was a large desk the spanned the length of wall with windows looking out on the city; part of it was covered with a high-tech computer and the rest with other software equipment.

"There isn't much to look at," Pritchard commented as he stepped up to the armchair, drawing Jensen's attention. "I'm rarely here to do more than sleep."

Jensen watched Pritchard set a large case on the coffee table by Jensen's chair; it looked like a blend between a toolbox and a first aid kit. His assessment wasn't far off from the truth when Pritchard opened it up to reveal a mix of first aid items and tools Jensen knew were used for adjusting and fixing augmentations. He could see that Pritchard looked somewhat uncomfortable as he set aside a few items, so Jensen forced himself to speak. "I get it," he offered.

Pritchard met his gaze and nodded. Then his eyes swept downward. "You'll have to remove your coat and all body armour at the very least," Pritchard told him with a strict, professional voice, making it easier for Jensen to accept that Pritchard was telling him to take his clothes off. "Likely your shirt as well. Your pants can stay on as long as you don't have any injuries on your legs. Can you give me a rundown?"

It helped for Jensen to slip back into his work mindset as he pulled off his coat and body armour tentatively. Yes he had kissed Pritchard, but that didn't mean he was interested in stripping down and doing more when he was feeling so exhausted, sore, and overwhelmed. He listed off the injuries he could feel across his body – both flesh wounds and augmentation malfunctions. As far as he was aware, only his right knee and shin had taken any real damage, so he pulled his shirt off but left his pants on.

He tried to lean forward to roll up his pant leg but gasped when he added pressure to his chest and sat back quickly, panting. Jensen felt a hesitant hand touch his knee and his eyes flashed open; Pritchard remained where he was, waiting for Jensen to nod his permission. Only then did Pritchard lift Jensen's leg to set his heel on the coffee table and roll up the fabric of his pant leg carefully. Jensen hissed when Pritchard's hand brushed the two bullet holes in his augmented leg – his nerves sensing pain in metal as effectively as they had in flesh – but Pritchard pulled away quickly and let the pain dull.

In silence Pritchard began working on Jensen's body. He cleaned and wrapped up all injuries Jensen had on his biological body first, making sure the muscles and skin were well taken care of. By the time that was finished, a good third of Jensen's skin was covered in bandages, and he had an ice pack pressed against a pair of bruised ribs. He had been lucky that his body armour took the majority of the damage, leaving only relatively minor injuries like bruises and shallow cuts across his body.

Unfortunately, his exposed arms and legs had taken more damage, though the blend of metal and prosthetic material was better equipped to sustain damage; that, of course, did nothing to dull the pain. "This is going to hurt," Pritchard warned him more than once, but there was nothing Jensen could do other than clench his eyes closed and swallow the pain down. The only reason Jensen didn't bolt when he felt machines pulling at his augmented muscles, pulling out fragments of bullets and treating burns, was because he knew Pritchard's steady hands were the ones in charge.

By the time Pritchard was finally finished, placing only the lightest touch to Jensen's uninjured shoulder to press him back against the chair as a hint to finally rest, Jensen felt dizzy with pain and exhaustion. A soft hand brushed against Jensen's metal one and Jensen forced his eyes open, unfurling his fingers from a fist to accept the small pill Pritchard placed in his palm. "Take this for the pain, and then I need to do a quick scan to make sure all your neural augs are doing alright. Then we're finished," Pritchard promised him. It was bizarre to hear Pritchard speaking with soft concern rather than harsh sarcasm paired with a sneer, but Jensen found he quite enjoyed it.

He nodded and pretended to swallow the pill as Pritchard watched him, keeping the pill in the groove of his palm as he brought it back to rest at his side. Then he stared at the machine Pritchard held up in front of him, trying not to get distracted by looking to Pritchard who was right behind the machine's screen. When Pritchard finally patted his clothed knee and moved back slightly to read the machine's readings, Jensen closed his eyes, trying to will away the pain.

To Jensen's distress he found that as soon as he closed his eyes he remembered his last view of Darrow, Taggart and Sarif, and the other nameless workers at the facility. This forced his eyes back open as he watched Pritchard approach with something that looked like a much nastier version of the taser he had zapped Jensen with at the beginning of his first mission over a month ago. "This is going to—"

"Hurt, I know," Jensen cut Pritchard off, not wanting to worry the man. "It's okay."

"It'll be dulled from the pill you took," Pritchard assured him, which just made Jensen clench his teeth together in preparation. Pritchard only got the device against Jensen's forehead and switched on for a second before Jensen let out an involuntary gasp of pain, bringing his hand up as his headache turned into a fully-fledged migraine. He was too disoriented to fight back as Pritchard reached for his other hand and pried his fist open, revealing the crushed pill. "What the hell, Jensen!" Pritchard snapped, setting the device down fully. "You need this!"

Jensen shook his head even though it worsened the pain, building a growing sensation of nausea in his stomach. "I don't..."

"Don't, what?" Pritchard hissed, brushing the remains of the ruined pill onto the floor. "I know you're used to this work and dealing with injuries but you're seriously hurt. A little bit of pain relief—"

"I don't deserve it!" Jensen finally yelled, slumping back against the chair a moment later, all of his energy fading. Pritchard was sitting on the coffee table in front of him, watching him with wide eyes. Jensen looked at the floor, unable to meet his gaze. "I killed them, Pritchard," he whispered, horrified as his mind was flooded with memories again. "All those people in Darrow's facility. Hundreds dead because of my choice."

A hesitant hand rested on top of Jensen's clenched fist, pale flesh covering black metal. "And millions more are saved because of your bravery," Pritchard told him, hushed in the dim apartment.

"You don't understand," Jensen closed his eyes but didn't pull his hand away. "I had a choice. I could have saved everyone else and still let everyone in the facility live as well."

"They didn't leave you much choice," Pritchard said, surprising Jensen enough to finally draw his gaze. "I lost communication with you after you spoke with Darrow, but I've been keeping track of you through your Infolink for most of this last month," the head of cyber security admitted. "I tried to give you privacy but I heard most of it. It sounded like everyone's been trying to use you for a long time."

The contained anger in Pritchard's voice softened Jensen's heart, and he moved his hand to subtly rest it on top of Pritchard's own. "None of them were bad men," Jensen felt the need to say. "It would be easy to simply call them villains. But they were all just blinded by their own ambitions."

"At your expense," Pritchard said and then sighed, running his free hand through his hair. "For what it's worth, Adam... I'm sorry," Pritchard murmured. "Do you want to talk about it more?"

Jensen watched Pritchard for a long moment in the silence of the apartment. He noticed that he could sense Pritchard's heartbeat where their hands touched, his augmentations sensitive against warm flesh. The thought of talking through his thoughts with Pritchard in the past would have filled him with dread, anticipating sneers and disapproval. But now he knew Pritchard would actually listen and it made Jensen feel grounded. "Yes," Jensen said, "But not now."

Gratitude and affection washed over him when Pritchard nodded his agreement and understanding, not pushing. "That's fine, but Adam..." Pritchard slowly pulled his hand from under Jensen's. "Please don't punish yourself. I still have to do some maintenance with your neural augs and it's going to be agony without a painkiller."

A part of Jensen still felt like that was exactly what he deserved – Darrow, Taggart, Sarif, workers all at the bottom of the arctic ocean at his call – but it was Pritchard's look of genuine concern that had Jensen offering his hand palm-up to accept another pill. Pritchard handed him one with an audibly relieved sigh and grabbed the machine again as Jensen swallowed down the pill.

It worked almost instantaneously and Jensen felt his pain dull, fading away to a forgettable discomfort when he felt nimble fingers brush at his hair absent-mindedly. It was ruined slightly by the shock and pinch of the machine working and Jensen had to close his eyes as his retinal augmentations blurred and rebooted. But Frank's fingers were in his hair again, soothing and distracting as the machine worked and was finally pulled away.

"Keep your eyes closed until I say," Pritchard told him, his fingers and warmth retreating. "Otherwise you'll feel pretty disoriented. It should only take a minute for the full reboot." Jensen sat silently as he had been ordered, listening to Pritchard cleaning and packing up the machine and the rest of the kit. He counted a minute and a half before Pritchard told him to open, and nearly jumped when Pritchard held out a small glass to him. It looked like a large-sized shot glass filled with a light blue goo. "It'll taste terrible but it'll stimulate healing," Pritchard explained.

Jensen took the glass and knocked it back in a hurry, shuddering as a sensation of slime trickled down the back of his throat thickly. He handed the glass back and coughed, fighting his gag reflex until his roiling stomach had calmed somewhat. After that he sat back again, watching with cleared vision as Pritchard packed up the kit and slipped it away on a bookshelf. "Pritchard..." Jensen called out to him when Pritchard remained by the bookshelf, shoulders hunched. "Frank," he tried again.

He wasn't sure what he was going to say, each passing moment making it harder for him to stay awake. Pritchard seemed to be aware of this as well because even though he walked back to sit on the coffee table, he didn't lean into Jensen's personal space again. "You need sleep, Adam."

"Frank," Jensen said again, forcing himself to sit on the edge of his seat so he didn't fall asleep mid-sentence. "I know this is probably the farthest thing from what you imagined if we ever..." he hesitated, unsure of what they were and not wanting to say too much too soon.

"I never even let myself imagine," Pritchard told him matter-of-factly, sad smile curling the corner of his mouth. "So you have nothing to live up to."

"Still," Jensen pressed. "I think you deserve an answer. I just know I'm not in the right mindset to give you one right now. So for now..." he said as he reached forward, offering an unsteady hand. He felt his heart jump when Pritchard offered his own hand, lacing their fingers together and letting their hands hang between them. "I want to thank you, for everything."

Pritchard rolled his eyes but Jensen could tell it was to save face, only half hiding his blush. "I've never known you to be so sentimental."

"I think this warrants a moment," Jensen said gruffly, trying to contain his own embarrassment. Even though Jensen was still warring with his own thoughts – wondering if he should be alive at all – he refused to belittle or brush aside the risk and sacrifice Pritchard had made to save him. He wasn't going to throw that aside, regardless of his internal turmoil. Jensen also wasn't going to downplay their kiss in the helicopter because he had returned that as readily as Pritchard had initiated it. Because of this, Jensen fought down his embarrassment and lifted their twined hands, pressing a soft kiss to the back of Pritchard's hand.

Pritchard watched him and Jensen smiled softly when he saw that Pritchard didn't fight down his own smile. It didn't progress further than that, but Jensen felt content. Pritchard eventually slipped his hand from Jensen's but didn't move away further. "I think we should sleep," Pritchard suggested grudgingly, both of them aware of their shared exhaustion. "You should take my bed. You'll need to lie flat to let everything heal properly."

"I'm not stealing your bed," Jensen began to argue, but Pritchard silenced him with a look.

"I'll not have you wasting all my work fixing you up," Pritchard snipped, standing and striding away. Jensen chuckled quietly at seeing the head of cyber security attempt to hide behind his work mentality. Even though Jensen knew he was guilty of doing the same thing, it seemed rather out of place after he had just kissed the man's hand. He forced himself out of the armchair and followed Pritchard into the other room, finding himself in the bedroom. He saw that Pritchard was pulling spare sheets and a pillow from a closet, arms full as he walked past Jensen toward the door. "Goodnight, Jensen."

"Frank," he called out, stopping Pritchard in his tracks. Jensen slowly stepped closer to Pritchard, their eyes locked in the near-darkness. He stopped when he was standing right beside Pritchard, their body heat shared between them. "One kiss?" he asked, a little nervous but not unsure about his request.

Pritchard pursed his lips. Jensen could see his blush with his retinal augmentations. "Just one," Pritchard huffed, but remained still.

Jensen knew that this was probably a bit of a test, Pritchard wanting to see if Jensen was interested enough to actually initiate this time. Feeling certain, Jensen rested a hand on Pritchard's far cheek and turned his face just enough to catch his lips. The kiss was innocent and soft, a mere brush of lips before he pulled away again, but there was no denying the way their heartbeats picked up. This was still incredibly new to him, but Jensen knew enough to acknowledge that he liked kissing Frank – and wanted to do it again.

"Goodnight, Francis," he said fondly.

Pritchard gave him an odd look for the name but didn't comment on it. "Goodnight," he said again, softer this time. Jensen let him leave, keeping the door open as he walked back to the bed. He decided to keep his pants on, still very aware of the fact that this wasn't his bed. He felt guilty for taking Pritchard's bed and leaving the other man to fend for himself, but it was only mere seconds after he had slipped under the covers that smelt of Frank before he fell into a deep, restful sleep.

#

Jensen jolted out of sleep with a gasp, his heart racing and his skin sweaty. Even though his eyes were open he was blind to the room around him. All he could see was the faces of those he had sent to a watery death – those he knew and those he didn't. "I believe you'll make the right choices, son," Sarif had said to him the last time they had been together. Darrow and Taggart had been similar, less familiar with Jensen but still trusting him to make the choice and, if nothing else, at least save them from death. All those lives, ended. At Jensen's hand. He couldn't stop seeing them in his mind, couldn't help but imagine their fear as the facility crumbled around them and the cold water rushed in, filling their lungs, pulling them under...

Jensen stood from the bed, forced into movement with his jittery body and mind. For a few minutes he paced blindly, struggling to slow his breathing and regain control of himself. It took a long time before his nightmares began to fade and Jensen could take in the room around him, remembering that it was Pritchard's and not his own. There were not many personal items for him to look at, only one picture frame on the dresser that looked like a half-forgotten family portrait from Pritchard's youth. Parents, Frank, and an older sister Jensen had never heard about.

After studying the picture, Jensen stepped away from the dresser and turned his gaze to the open door leading out to the living room. He couldn't hear Pritchard and hoped he hadn't made enough noise during his nightmare to wake his host up. On silent feet Jensen stepped out into the living room, casting his eyes around the darkened room in search of Pritchard. He found the head of cyber security asleep on the couch, uncomfortably curled up since the couch wasn't the right size for guests.

Continuing to keep his steps silent, Jensen approached the couch cautiously and stood over it, watching Pritchard sleep. Pritchard was definitely unconscious but his sleep looked fretful, his dark eyebrows furrowed. Jensen knelt down and carefully brushed his fingers through Pritchard's hair, tugging the hair tie out on one sweep of his fingers. Pritchard's black hair spilled free, half covering his face until Jensen brushed it aside, caressing Pritchard's temple in the process.

Pritchard did not wake up at the touch, but his face did relax somewhat as he let out a calm breath. Jensen didn't want Pritchard to be uncomfortable and no longer wanted to be alone; it was only here as he kneeled close to Pritchard that he was able to remember he was safe and had a reason to keep going instead of finding a away to finish himself off the way the facility should have. He was still exhausted and knew he had to sleep more; the clock on the wall told him he had only been asleep for a few hours. It wasn't even approaching dawn yet.

Not bothering to second-guess himself in this moment, Jensen stood and hesitantly slipped his arms under Pritchard's sleeping form. It was easy to lift the man up into his arms and hold him close but Jensen was worried about waking him up. There were a few seconds were his heart raced, Pritchard shifting in his arms and grunting at the movement, but then he settled again and Jensen let out a sigh of relief.

He carried Pritchard back to the bed and settled him down, moving around the bed to slip under the covers as well. Then he shuffled over until his chest moulded to the warm flesh of Pritchard's back, the man without a shirt even though their pants were still in place. Not entirely sure about boundaries but hoping Pritchard wouldn't mind, Jensen wrapped an arm around Frank's waist and twined their fingers together, holding their combined hands against Pritchard's stomach and pulling him closer.

Pritchard shifted around again for a few moments but then he relaxed. Jensen could feel his own body relaxing as well, his muscles unwinding and his mind calming to a tired lull. Maybe if he had been more awake Pritchard's proximity and their positioning would have made Jensen anxious; they hadn't sorted anything out yet. But right now this was exactly what Jensen needed to settle down. He brushed his lips curiously across the bare skin of Pritchard's shoulder and then tucked his face at the back of the man's neck, breathing in his scent as he drifted off into a much more relaxing and refreshing sleep.

#

The next time Jensen woke up it was at a slower pace, leaving him groggy as he unconsciously pulled Pritchard closer to him. Jensen let his eyes drift closed again as he spooned Pritchard from behind and was about to doze off again when he noticed that his partner's heartbeat had picked up. Jensen's hand was still loosely wrapped around Pritchard's own and resting against Pritchard's chest, making it easy to pick up on his racing heart. Once Jensen was aware of that, he woke up enough to also pick up on Pritchard's slightly faster breathing and warmed skin.

"You're awake?" he mumbled quietly, his hand twitching worriedly, not knowing if he should pull away.

"I'm awake," Pritchard answered him and clasped their hands together tighter, keeping Jensen from retreating. Jensen realized that Pritchard sounded very awake, meaning he must have been aware of this position for a while but had not pulled away. This thought had Jensen tightening his hold as much as he dared, pressing his face against the crook of Pritchard's neck. "Wondering how I got here..." Pritchard added with a light chuckle that swept through Jensen's body.

"You just want me to admit it, don't you?" Jensen whispered against Pritchard's skin.

"I do," Pritchard admitted, not turning around yet to face him.

"I woke up in the middle of the night with a nightmare," Jensen told him. "I walked out and found you barely fitting on the couch. You looked so uncomfortable and being close to you made it easier for me to relax, so I brought you to bed." As he spoke he slowly slipped the fingers of his free hand into Pritchard's hair, watching the black strands fan across the pillow.

"And then you proceeded to spoon me," Pritchard griped, though Jensen could feel the smaller man shiver when Jensen began stroking his fingers through Pritchard's hair.

"You didn't pull away when you woke up before me," Jensen pointed out, smiling privately to himself at the thought again.

"No," Pritchard agreed. "But it does make it rather difficult to figure out what's going on in your head."

Jensen remained silent, thinking over Pritchard's words. It was true; he wasn't being fair. He was making it difficult for Pritchard by acting like this without explaining his feelings or deciding on what sort of relationship he wanted with the cyber security expert. Jensen mulled this over, growing increasingly accepting of his feelings for Frank, but before he could say anything he was startled by the sound of a radio flicking on and the news filling the room.

Pritchard rushed out of Jensen's embrace immediately to flick off the radio, but Jensen had already caught the beginning of Eliza's broadcast from Pritchard's alarm clock. "It has been confirmed that Hugh Darrow's research facility near the Arctic Circle experienced severe malfunctions which caused the main structures to fail, allowing water to rush in quickly—"

Jensen sat up slowly as Pritchard looked back at him, dark hair spilling over his shoulders. Pritchard looked guilty and concerned, all rolled into one. "I'm sorry, Jensen..." he began, weathering his bottom lip.

"Turn it back on," Jensen demanded, voice ragged. When Pritchard just stared at him with wide eyes, Jensen forced himself to sit on the edge of the bed and reach for the radio, flicking it back on.

"—whereabouts are not confirmed yet but police have spoken to their secretaries and both William Taggart – leader of Humanity Front – and David Sarif – CEO of Sarif Industries – are reported to have been scheduled to visit Mister Darrow..." Jensen was aware of Pritchard slowly sitting down on the edge of the bed beside him but neither of them said anything. "We do know for sure from a roster that there were two hundred and forty-eight staff members on site at the time of the accident..."

"We don't need to listen to this," Pritchard said, but weakly; he knew as well as Jensen did that it was necessary for them to keep track of this. After all, as head of security at Sarif Industries, it was only a matter of time before Jensen was approached. He had to be aware of what Eliza was offering to the media and decide for himself how much of the story he was going to tell. Jensen reminded himself that if he had died he wouldn't have a chance to share any information; now he had more choices ahead of him.

"You don't have to listen," Jensen looked over to Pritchard with a soft look, not wanting Frank to suffer by listening to this.

"I'm not going anywhere, Adam," Frank chided him, sitting a little closer on the bed so that their knees almost brushed.

Jensen watched him for a long moment, desire, uncertainty and guilt warring for attention in his mind. Not knowing what to say, he just nodded his thanks and turned back to the radio as Eliza continued her modified broadcast. "...the situation surrounding the future of Sarif Industries will be answered by Mister Sarif's lawyers, though we have been told that no rash decisions will be made until Sarif's location is confirmed. The police are seeking out Adam Jensen, head of security for Sarif Industries but have been unable to contact him. We have been able to speak to Mister Taggart's secretary though, who says that..."

"Shit," Jensen cursed, standing quickly. The longer the police were unable to talk to him, the more suspicious and persistent they would become. Pritchard seemed to understand this as well because he stood beside Jensen, motioning him back down to keep listening before disappearing. Jensen sat back down on the bed reluctantly until Pritchard returned a moment later with his phone, handing it over silently.

Jensen turned down the radio and called the police station, working through the menus until he got through. "Detroit Police Department, how many I direct your call?"

He watched as Pritchard walked back out of the bedroom and Jensen wasn't sure if he appreciated the privacy or missed the man's company. Nonetheless, he forced himself to focus. "My name is Adam Jensen, head of security for Sarif Industries," he said briskly. "I just heard the news and wanted to call immediately. I haven't been to my apartment and haven't had my phone on me."

"One moment, sir," the man told him.

There was a click and Jensen listened to a few minutes of classical music until someone else picked up the line. "Officer Blake," a woman said. "Glad to hear from you, Mister Jensen. We've been trying to contact you."

Jensen could hear the slight suspicion in her voice and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I haven't been home in a few days but I called as soon as I heard the news. I won't discuss anything over the phone but I'd like to come in to the precinct if that works."

His willingness to talk should have helped ease the tension across the phone line, but Officer Blake still sounded unimpressed. "It seems a little odd that you haven't been home right before your boss disappeared, and now you won't discuss anything over the phone."

"I don't appreciate your poorly-veiled accusation," Jensen said steadily. "Much of what I do for Sarif Industries is confidential and I do not trust common phone lines. Now I ask you, do you really think I would be calling and willingly agreeing to come to the precinct if I had something to hide?" The officer on the other end of the line was silent, likely taken aback by Jensen's boldness. "I will get breakfast and then come over directly, if that suits."

Officer Blake cleared her throat. "We'll be expecting you," was all she said before she hung up.

Jensen clicked off the phone and stood from the bed, walking out into the rest of the apartment. His movements were stiff, his muscles and joints sore, but he had to stretch and loosen up before he went to the police station unless he wanted to be asked even more questions. He set the phone down on the table and found Pritchard in the kitchen, frying enough eggs and toast for two. Pritchard looked up as Jensen approached and leaned against the counter beside him, watching the eggs fry. "I'm going to the police."

Pritchard looked him over critically. "You'll be able to hide your injuries, but you better hope they don't ask you do a physical," he huffed worriedly. Jensen watched as Pritchard reached up to pull two plates from the cupboard, the muscles across Pritchard's back stretching and flexing beautifully. He reached forward and brushed his fingers across Pritchard's back, causing the man to tense and then slowly relax. "You better not be planning to turn yourself in," Pritchard warned lowly as he pushed food onto the two plates.

"I'm not," Jensen assured, fingers still mapping bare skin. "If I told them I was there then they would eventually force everything out of me. The whole point of destroying the facility was to keep anyone from moulding the story. Telling the story myself would just make all those deaths a waste." Pritchard remained silent, the food on the plate but Pritchard's hands on the counter as he remained where he was, allowing Jensen's fingers to explore. "You're the only one I'd trust with the full story," he said seriously.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," Pritchard offered quietly.

"Would you listen if I wanted to?" Jensen asked, stepping a little closer. Their bodies weren't touching but they were close enough that Jensen could feel Pritchard's warmth radiating off his skin.

He didn't complain when Pritchard leaned back so that their back and chest were pressed together. Jensen slid his fingers down and around to hold Pritchard's waist lightly. "I would."

Jensen's fingers tightened slightly on Pritchard's hip. "Now?"

"Anytime."

"I want to now," Jensen said, pressing a soft kiss to the crook where Pritchard's neck met his shoulder before stepping back. "Over breakfast?"

Pritchard turned to lean back against the counter, eyes appraising as he looked Jensen over. "That sounds reasonable. And we can always talk more when you get back."

"You want me to come back here?" Jensen asked softly. He would never call himself dumb but the idea that Pritchard wanted him close, desired him, still somewhat baffled to him. Although it pained him to think it, over the last month Jensen had become little more than a killing machine. Who could possibly love him the way he was now?

His thoughts were cut off when Pritchard covered the small space between them, hand sliding up into Jensen's hair and grabbing it, dragging him into a fast, heady kiss. They broke apart a moment later, Jensen's lips tingling from the contact. "Yes, I want you to come back," Pritchard told him in the most deadpan voice possible, tugging his hair in what Jensen assumed was a small punishment for his stupidity before Pritchard pulled away and handed him a plate. "Now sit down and eat your food."

Despite himself, Jensen felt himself smiling as he sat down at the table, Pritchard sitting beside him. Jensen couldn't even remember the last time he had sat down to a meal with someone else, and he had never been a domestic sort. But this was surprisingly enjoyable. The sun was just beginning to spill in through the windows, lighting up the hardwood floors and highlighting dancing dust motes in the air. Jensen found himself watching Pritchard as they ate silently for a few minutes, for the first time taking the time to notice the beauty of his lit up skin and eyes.  

Once he had had a few bites of food he began trying to summarize the whole mess of a conspiracy he had uncovered over the last month. It was made easier when he realized how much Pritchard had heard while watching over him during his missions. The only parts of the story Jensen had to give long details about were when he was stuck on the cargo ship, in the detention centre, and everything that had happened after Jensen had talked to Darrow and Pritchard for the last time at Panchaea.

It went against Jensen's basic instincts to admit to anyone that he had killed someone, let alone a whole facility. But Pritchard was silent and supportive, not once interrupting or giving Jensen a horrified expression. Part way through Jensen realized that this wasn't new to Pritchard. Many of the missions Jensen completed with Pritchard as his remote partner included serious moral boundaries being crossed, life and death hanging in the balance. Although Pritchard had never promoted senseless killing and had always suggested more sneaky methods of getting around, both of them had had enough experience to recognize that death was sometimes the most viable option.

There wasn't much to be said when Jensen finally finished telling his story; it was a lot to admit and take in. It had taken him some time to give Pritchard the details and he knew the police were probably getting impatient. He didn't want to leave, didn't want to walk back out into the world and be forced to see what had changed and what had remained the same. But if he didn't go to the police, they would certainly come for him. So Jensen borrowed one of Pritchard's shirts to slip on – his own riddled with bullet holes, rips and blood – and washed up before pulling on his coat and heading for the door. He hesitated in the doorframe, wondering if he should say something, but he couldn't think of anything so he let the door close behind him and continued on silently.

The police station was a nightmare of a day for him, even though he had known what to expect. As soon as Jensen walked into the building he began a recording through his augmentations, feeding everything that was said back to Pritchard since the police would likely question him soon as well and their answers had to match up. Jensen knew how to lie and his augmentations were far superior to those that the police possessed, meaning there was no chance for him to get manipulated and give away information. But it was still gruelling having people ask him questions constantly throughout the day, many of them drawing up painful memories even though he refused to show his reactions.

It was difficult for Jensen to determine if they suspected him or were just reaming him because they had no other leads to pursue. He could tell that they were getting frustrated with him though; it was obvious. Although it actually made it easier for Jensen to skirt certain details, even if he had wanted to tell the truth he had to consider his confidentiality agreement with Sarif Industries. Just because Sarif was dead didn't mean Jensen wasn't bound to silence regarding many of the missions Jensen had undergone during the last month.

He was able to give some hinting details about locations that might direct the police and help the world find their own answers regarding the collapsed arctic facility, but Jensen offered up no specifics on what he had been doing in any of the locations he had traveled to in the last month. Jensen wasn't against the police or the rest of the world learning what he had discovered through his exploration. He just wanted to ensure that he did not add his own personal biases to the information by handing it all to them. He wanted everyone to find out for themselves and then determine what the best course of action would be.

Sometime in the late afternoon Jensen was finally released from questioning. He was told to stay in the city and remain accessible. Jensen had been forced to admit that he was staying with Pritchard, though he had been unwilling to answer any specific questions on their relationship and had promptly snubbed any prying questions. However, he did promise to pick up his phone on his walk back to Pritchard's so that they would be able to contact him if they needed anything else. By now Jensen had learned that to avoid suspicion it was usually best to act accommodating.

Jensen ended the recording as he left the precinct and he only got two blocks away from the police station before Pritchard's voice filled his ear again. "I feel exhausted just from watching that interrogation," he grumbled.

"Tell me about it," Jensen sighed, rubbing his temples before adjusting his path and heading for his own apartment. "But I think I covered everything well. They'll question others, but no one else will know. Sarif was keeping my work pretty under the radar."

"What about Malik?" Pritchard questioned quietly. "They'll probably question her since she flew you around. They'll want to confirm the locations you visited."

"I did Malik some favours," Jensen brushed over the details; Malik's secrets were her own. "Back in Hengsha. We can trust her."

"Good to know," Pritchard said. There was a pause between them and then Pritchard cleared his throat. "Are you coming back?"

"I'm stopping by my apartment first," Jensen explained. "And I was also thinking of stopping by Sarif Industries. Until they figure out the new management hierarchy I think I'm going to bank on the other six months of my sick leave I was ordered." Pritchard didn't respond and Jensen felt his lungs tighten nervously. "Then I'm coming back."

There was a tiny exhalation of breath that Pritchard probably hadn't meant for Jensen to hear, and then there was a smile in his voice. "I'll be here. Pritchard out."

Jensen forced his feet to continue their trek to his apartment even though he just wanted to return to Frank and sleep. He told himself that it would be a short stop at his apartment. It would be easy to pick up the things he needed and leave again; nothing would remind him of Sarif or the others to bring the memories back. It was Sarif Industries that would be the bigger challenge, though Jensen had learned by now how to suppress his emotions when it was necessary to remain focused.

He knew he had miscalculated as soon as he walked into his apartment and caught the sight of an unused glass sitting beside his bottle of scotch on the kitchen counter. Immediately the memory rushed back, stalling Jensen mid step in the doorway. He remembered coming back to his apartment and finding David Sarif already there, having boldly invited himself in. It had been right after Jensen found out that Sarif hadn't been entirely truthful with him and had felt his senses sharpen as he stepped into the apartment.

Jensen gave Sarif an opportunity to tell him the truth without prying, but he lied again and Jensen could only wonder how many more lies the man had told him over the years, how many lies Jensen had believed. He had pulled two glasses out of the cupboard for the scotch but Sarif failed him by handing off another lie and Jensen had never filled the second glass with scotch for his boss. Already he had begun to withdraw his companionship from the man, though at that time he had never considered the possibility that he might end David's life.

Jensen forced himself to step forward into the kitchen, brushing his fingers over the clean rim of the second glass. The scotch bottle was still on the counter and Jensen's used glass was still unwashed in the sink; he hadn't been home for long before he was forced to leave on another mission. He thought back to the last time Sarif was in his apartment. There had been distrust between them but never outright animosity. Sarif had made a lot of mistakes but had never possessed ill intent, and it was hard to blame Sarif fully when Jensen knew he himself had made just as many choices and mistakes in his life.

The crunch of shattering glass filled the room and Jensen looked down to find the glass broken into splinters in his hand. He tilted his hand slightly, letting the pieces of glass fall to the counter and lie still. He looked down at what remained of the glass until he caught his own augmented yellow-green eyes staring back at him with silent judgement. Then he strode out of the room in a rush, reminding himself to breathe.

But when he walked out into the living room he remembered where Sarif had sat and stood, how he had begged Jensen with such passion to help him. Jensen's memories were so strong that he could practically still see David, hear him as he entrusted Jensen with his hopes for the future; even though this hadn't been where Sarif died, Jensen felt like he was still here. Judging Jensen and asking why?

Why had Jensen killed all those people? Why had the decision been left to him? What was he going to do now?

Jensen turned away from the living room and stepped into his bedroom. He grabbed his phone off the bedside table and began playing his collection of messages while he packed some clothes and other items he would need. Jensen was glad that he still had a phone, knowing that only those at Sarif Industries with the proper clearance for Jensen's missions would be able to contact him through his infolink. It was nice to know that he could turn off the messages if he wanted to, disappear again and take a much needed break from the world. Abandon it even, maybe. He wouldn't be missed.

He got a small bag packed and pocketed his phone, not calling anyone back. All of the messages were from the police and he had already spoken with them. Jensen hesitated in his living room again, but only acknowledged his memories briefly before continuing on to the exit and heading out into the hallway. He realized that there was no benefit to wallowing. He had made his decision and David Sarif and the others were dead; no second-guessing would bring them back now. It was time for Jensen to accept what he had done and move on.

Walking around Sarif Industries was also difficult for Jensen to face but for a different reason. While his memories of Sarif talking to him in his apartment were more personal, being in the company office with the knowledge that he had killed the CEO was uncomfortable to say the least. It also left Jensen feeling oddly lost. As he stepped into his office to check his emails and go over all the accounts he felt as though he was simply going through the motions but was otherwise detached. And when he took the elevator up to the top floor to tell Sarif's secretary that he was going to continue his sick leave but was available via his phone, he felt like he lacked purpose.

There were not many people at Sarif Industries Jensen actually interacted with on a daily basis. The majority of his work meant he would either be at Sarif's side or halfway across the world on a mission with classified information he couldn't tell anyone when he got back. Most days Jensen had only come into the office and spoken with David Sarif and his secretary. So now, seeing Sarif's office dark, empty and unused through the glass doors was almost startling.

He bid farewell to the secretary and turned away, disappearing into the elevator again and allowing it to whisk him away. He wondered what his future with Sarif Industries would be now that David Sarif was dead at his hands. Jensen doubted he would be fired, though he didn't know if the new appointed management would want to keep him on for the same sort of work or not. A lot of what Jensen had done for Sarif was classified; he wasn't even sure some of the details would be in Jensen's file for the lawyers to look at.

But would Jensen want to come back and work here? How long would it take for him to work here before he eventually came to terms with the fact that he had killed his boss? And if Jensen didn't come back to work at Sarif Industries, what else would he do? He had been outfitted with military-grade augmentations that even made interacting with the general public a potential nightmare. Often times his sensory augmentations would pick up on details he didn't want to know, and others were scared or hateful at the mere sight of him. Jensen had nowhere else to go, and nothing else to do.

His walking pace slowed as he entered Pritchard's apartment building and dragged his feet up the stairs. By the time he punched in the key code Pritchard had sent to him, Jensen was leaning against the doorframe. He felt like his strength and motivation had been sapped; he had always drawn his strength from his purpose and goals. Now there was nothing pushing him, nothing to aim for.

The door slid open and Jensen stumbled inside. He could hear the shower running and Jensen stepped into the living room, setting his bag down and collapsing into the same armchair he had used the night before when Pritchard patched him up. Already Jensen could feel the superficial wounds across his body beginning to heal, though he knew the more serious injuries would take more time. He leaned his head back against the chair and let his eyes drift closed, breathing in and out slowly as he listened to the shower run.